


holiest

by v3ilfire



Series: keep you away from the down side of me [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, fluff fluff fluff fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-16
Updated: 2016-07-23
Packaged: 2018-04-20 12:57:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4788047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/v3ilfire/pseuds/v3ilfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>an anthology of fluff and prompt fills</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. perfume

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> inquisitor lavellan finds out she has an allergy to clumsy attempts at romance.

It came up over one of their routine chess games.

Not on purpose, of course – Cullen would never admit to having inappropriate feelings for the Inquisitor _aloud_ – but Dorian was infuriatingly perceptive about such things. Thus, the Commander ended up with a small bottle of cologne on his desk, tied with a violet ribbon and left with a note about being the most ‘expensive and popular method of courting in Tevinter.’ With a sigh, Cullen stuffed the damn thing in a drawer and slammed it shut, never to be thought of again. He kept this up for three weeks.

And then, the Inquisitor returned. 

She had to smile at him once, all freckles and golden hair and grass-green eyes, and before he realized what he had done, he was sitting at his desk smelling strongly of wood, but … sweet? He only began contemplating the intricacies of the scent Dorian had provided him with when the door swung open and Tevra sauntered in, already free of her armor. She had thrown a sleeveless tunic over her torso and called it a day, and it took Cullen every ounce of concentration in the world not to count the individual spots in the clouds of freckles dusting her arms and shoulders. 

"Commander,” she said, in a mockery of formality. “I present to you… my reports.” She dropped the stacks of paper onto his desk, effectively fanning the still-dissipating cloud of cologne towards herself. Cullen flinched visibly, his nerves getting the best of him, and suddenly he was too acutely aware of just how much of the stuff he had sprayed into the air. “… Your office smells different.”  
“Does it?” he said – yelled? Barked? Since when did he not have control over his own voice?  
“Yeah,” she muttered, scratching idly at her wrist. “Must be the dust. Anyway - I didn’t write this down, but we had to corral a druffalo near Redcliffe and I swear if they were not as painfully slow as they are, I’d requisition one.”

Cullen had never been more attentive to a six-minute ode to the merits of druffalo (or heard them referred to with such _glowing_ affection), but he couldn’t help but notice that the Inquisitor would take increasingly shorter pauses between itching at her arms. Or her face. Or her ribs.  
“-- and you know, maneuvering a druffalo around a rift is not as fun as --”  
“Inquisitor, are you -- are you alright?”  
“I’m fine I just -- maybe I got bit by something? Did someone try to clean in here? This smell is making my nose burn a little.”

Cullen’s hands went cold, the weight of the cologne bottle still too real in his palm. He scoot as far back as his chair would allow him.

Tevra kept itching at her wrist until she seemed to notice something, and immediately brought the appendage as close as she could to her face and squinted at it.  
“Oh, Maker’s tits,” she muttered. “I’m sorry, Cullen, I think I need to get out of here. Look.”  
She extended her arm towards him and he flinched away again, careful to appraise the beginnings of reddening bumps on her arms at a distance. “Our Keeper had a reaction to Rashvine like this. I think it’s -- I should go to the infirmary. Sorry I -- uh, let me know if you have any questions about the report.”  
  
Cullen sat frozen in his chair as she booked it out of his office, wide-eyed and silently cursing the decorative little bottle sitting in his desk drawer.

(The next day, one of his guards had reported a _curiously_ similar object ‘smashed to smithereens’ on some rocks outside the stronghold.)

He'd spent all night and the following morning replaying their meeting in his head, startled when a messenger entered his office with only a quick knock.  
“Sir? The Inquisitor would like you to meet her out in the lower courtyard.” In his head, he wrote his will. She had to have known - or Dorian told her - why else would she want to see him? And outside, Maker, he was about to be humiliated in front of every soul in the lower courtyard for nearly killing the Inquisitor in his attempts to get her attention. This would be the end of his attempts to fraternize, of pandering to foolish, childish feelings --

And yet, she was smiling at him as she waved him over, perched on a stone fence. He approached her, but stopped at an uncomfortable distance, fearful of any bit of the scent still lingering about his coat. This did not go unnoticed.  
“You can… sit down.”  
“I should really - I shouldn’t be out of the office, and --” Tevra rolled her eyes and scoot her bowl towards him. He caught the shine of a salve on her arms, covering the still-reddish bumps all across her skin.  
“Help me finish these grapes. That’s an order.” She had no idea. And Dorian didn’t tell her.

To be safe, Cullen shed his vest and set it aside as he joined her, resisting the urge to ask why a bench wasn’t a viable alternative to the cold masonry. Tevra stared at him a moment, and then scoot the bowl over again, all until he crumbled under her insistent gaze and plucked a grape from the vine.  
“So - evidently I have an allergy to -- Mythal’enaste, I forgot what it was called. Some wood only found way out in Southern Ferelden. Isn’t that odd? I asked if the wood polish we’ve been using had any of its oils in it, but it doesn’t. Maybe the old occupant of your office had one growing, or something? Either way, just… let me know when the smell is gone.” Maybe it was a Southern Fereldan wood, _maybe_ the Commander had a childish crush on his superior and listened to the advice of once insistent mage to the point of nearly killing her. It was, perhaps, best that she not find out.

“Cullen.” He hadn’t said anything. Cullen cursed himself - why didn’t he at least nod?   
“Ah -- yes?”  
“You have been holding that grape and staring at me for... way too long. Is everything alright?” He threw the grape in his mouth without thinking to answer her question first, and immediately his entire face flushed and why was it _hot_ on the top of a mountain and --   
“I’m sorry,” he began, the grape barely chewed and he could feel it sliding down his throat, “I -- everything is fine -- well, not fine, we’re still setting up and -- I simply --” And a slow smile spread across her face, and in the sunshine he could have sworn her skin took on a warmer tint.  
“Tough day?”  
“I -- yes. Yes. I apologize, Inquisitor.”  
“No need. I’ll stop taking up you time. Go back to your poison box.”  
“Of course, Inquisitor.”

Tevra watched him retreat to his office. It took him exactly ten paces to realize he had forgotten his vest and to return, offering her nothing but a warm half-smile and a cursory glance to explain his misstep. She kept her eyes on him until he was out of sight, catching his gaze when he turned his head to look back at her one last time before disappearing back into his office.

For at least a minute, she forgot all about her itching.

 

 


	2. nope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tumblr prompt fill for 'cuddling.'

“Tevra.”  
“Mmph.”  
“Tevra.”   
“ _Why?”  
“Tevra.” _

Cullen received a long, pained groan in response to his prodding. He smiled while she still wasn’t looking, face buried in his furs. She had fallen asleep too fast for him to tell her  _exactly_  how much work there was to be done, but even so, he spared fifteen minutes to let the tired elf doze. 

“Mythal’enaste, Cullen, I will gladly do all your paperwork  _for_  you if you just … take a nap with me. For at  _least_  an hour.”   
She did not like the sound of his  _laughter_. Laughter usually meant he wasn’t taking her offer seriously, but at that point, she was actually ready to sell her entire soul to the first sloth demon a rift spit at her if only to convince her Commander to stay put.   
“I wasn’t aware that you learned all of our troop movements.” His hand running through her hair  _wasn’t_  helping. Her sigh sounded closer to a purr, and she curled further into his pauldrons as a result, completely ignoring the metal bits of his armor that were making her position slightly uncomfortable. Cullen shook his head.   
“I’ll learn ‘em tomorrow morning.”  
“Is that how long you intend on sleeping?”  
“That’s how long I intend for  _us_  to sleep.”  
“What happened to ‘at least an  _hour?’”  
_ “Think of it as a gross underestimate.”

Cullen sighed, and as much as he didn’t want to, went to sit up from his near-laying position. Tevra snapped upwards suddenly, her hands still on his chest, though she wasn’t trying to hold him down so much as prop herself up. Her eyelids were still heavy with sleep, thoughts only on the brink of coherency.   
“As your Inquisitor, I absolutely order you to take a nap with me.”   
“And as your Commander, I  _stringently_ advise against it.” Tevra sighed a heavy sigh, surrendering the support of one arm in order to run a hand through Cullen’s hair and let it linger along his jaw. The movement seemed to slow him, at least.   
“We are both  _exhausted_. Unless Corypheus comes knocking on your office door  _right now_ , where's the fire?” It was Cullen’s turn to sigh, though Tevra spotted just the  _smallest_  crack in his resolve, in the way his eyes shifted away from her momentarily.   
“If I don’t do it tonight, it pile up.”  
“I’ll get you a scribe.”  
“ _Tevra_  –” 

In a moment of clarity, she leaned down and left a kiss on his temple, then his cheek.   
“ _Please_ , for once, just stay put.” Cullen tried to piece words together as her face lingered  _far_  too close to his, and then moved to kiss the corner of his mouth.  
“You  _know_  I can’t –” The next kiss swallowed whatever he was going to say, his stubborn streak crumbling with every movement of her lips, every flutter of her fingertips. When she moved to kiss his scar, there was barely any left.  
“ _Maker_ , Tevra, I –”   
“Stay,” she whispered, and kissed his nose. 

Cullen eyed the pile of papers on his desk, but the Inquisitor’s fingers were already picking at the buckle of his breastplate. It took quite a bit of fumbling on both their parts until he was rid of the armor on his upper body, and settled back down onto the pillow. Tevra sighed, holding his vest in her hands as she straddled his thighs, having fully intended to use it as a blanket.   
“Do you  _really_  have something important to do? Now that I’m awake I feel bad for distracting you.”   
“You owe me a scribe tomorrow.” 

Whatever the paperwork, it would be worth the way she beamed down on him. 

He wasn’t quite expecting her to flop down on top of him as she did, but it only took a moment to get settled, their legs entwined and his arms circled around her. She threw his vest over them both, though gave herself ample space to curl right into the furs and position her head atop his chest. 

They were both blissfully asleep not five minutes later, and the messenger that happened to walk in on them was at least polite enough to lock the door behind him  _before_  running off to tell the rest of his ranks.


	3. backhanded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt fill for, “you’re taking his side on this?”

Cullen had long since grown used to having his suggestions at the war table dismissed for the sake of espionage and diplomacy - he blamed it both on his impatience and on the Inquisitor’s reluctance towards war. Tevra had proven a surprisingly capable leader thus far, considering the circumstances, but he near pitied her kindness. 

Then again, he was often told that he should consider mellowing out. Originally, he thought there’d be little room for that, but it seemed to be working well enough for everyone else. 

For once, he wasn’t the most tense person at the War Table. Ever since Josephine handed the letter from Clan Lavellan over to the Inquisitor, she paled and went silent. It seemed that the missive from Wycome, despite their best efforts, was more troubling than the last.   
“I’m sorry, Inquisitor,” Leliana said. “My spies won’t do your people any good in the face of a direct attack.”   
“My diplomats may still be able to convince the remaining Marchers to listen to reason,” Josephine offered, with all her usual air of optimism.   
“If we negotiate, the Marchers will kill the elves, then send apologies. We must fortify the city,” Cullen cut in, crossing his arms over his chest, though he knew he was only wasting his breath. The only thing his men seemed to be good for doing was gathering herbs and metals and occasionally warding off a Venatori attack in bumfuck nowhere, Orlais. 

“…Alright. We fortify it.”   
“ _What?”  
_ “You’re taking his side on this?” Josephine said, only _barely_  hiding her surprise. Cullen, too, couldn’t help his eyebrows raising when he met the elf’s eye.  
“There’s no other option,” she said, rolling the letter back up in her hands. “We’ve got to push back. Ready your men, Commander.” 

* * *

Two weeks had come and gone without _too_  much trouble, which was either a blessing or foreboding - it had grown harder and harder to tell, in recent months. Cullen hardly heard the knocking on his door over his own griping about mission reports, but his visitor was insistent.   
“Yes?” He made an attempt to straighten himself in his chair, though he didn’t look up from his stack of reports. They were probably about to be added to, anyway, considering the volume of messengers in and out of his quarters on a daily basis.  
“Is there any word from Wycome?” Cullen glanced upwards. The _last_  person he’d expected to come knocking was the Inquisitor, clearly in a rush considering she hadn’t bothered to change from her training gear before dipping into his office.   
“My men are in position with the supplies,” he said, and set his quill aside. “So far, there’s been no attack, but I can assure you that we _will_  be prepared when the time comes.” His words seemed to bring her some relief, at least. Her posture had relaxed instantly, most of her weight slumping to one side and hands falling to her hips. He had to admit, it was refreshing to be around someone who wasn’t constantly trying to hide their feelings. Being around Josephine and Leliana, who were frighteningly good at that, often became… trying. At least the Inquisitor was expressive enough to make up for both of them.

“Oh, good. Maybe if this goes well, the Keeper will hop off me about ‘doing good for the people,’ or whatever,” she said. “Honestly, I’m happier about sticking it to Antoine than making some statement for the elves.”   
“An uncommon attitude, from what I understand.”  
“I’m an uncommon elf,” she joked. “And that’s before the whole mystical hand-hole fiasco.” Cullen let slip a chuckle, at which she smiled, triumphant.  
“I should say so. Not many Dalish can claim to be a heretical icon on as many levels as you.”   
“You’re not wrong. Anyway, I should go before Heir figures out where I’ve scampered off to. Keep me updated on the situation, will you?”   
“Of course, Inquisitor. We’ll do everything we can to save your Clan,” he added as she turned to leave.   
“Don’t forget my alienage, too,” she threw back over her shoulder. The quill was back in Cullen’s hand and the door nearly shut before the sentence fully registered with him.

“Your alienage?” he asked, clearly taken aback. A freckled hand caught the door just before it closed, and re-opened it just enough for Tevra to pop her head back in, one eyebrow raised.  
“Problem, Commander?”  
“Wh – _no_ , I just thought – you have the –”  
“Vallaslin,” she offered before he could embarrass himself. “Sure, but I was born in Wycome. Lived there ‘till I was twelve, too. Dalish dad, city mom, kid brother, destitute poverty. Whole bit. Not fond of elves, over there. On a scale of one to Orlais, I’d call it a seven.” Cullen blinked, for once thankful for the Inquisitor’s tendency towards babbling.   
“I’m sorry, I never knew.”  
“You never asked,” she said, tacking on a gasp at the end. “Funny how that works, isn’t it?”   
“We haven’t exactly been on the best terms for small talk,” he said, though he had to admit that he’d been curious about her before they began to discover their… differences. Few Dalish elves invoked the Maker and Andraste’s private parts within the same half-hour as their own deities.   
“Yeah, well, you’re a lot less of a prick than I originally thought you were. Keep me updated,” she said, and without giving him an opportunity to respond, dipped out and let the door shut behind her. 

Cullen was left sitting upright in his chair, both confused and slightly amused by their exchange. There was something admirable about her honesty, if not a little uncanny. She made ‘less of a prick’ sound like a compliment, backhanded as it was. He _almost_  appreciated it. 

* * *

The encounter in Cullen’s office faded from memory for the three weeks that the Inquisitor disappeared into the Hinterlands. She returned in the dead of night to no fanfare, and a War Table meeting was called for the next afternoon. He handed her the scroll from Wycome without thinking too much about it - he, after all, had trusted his men to bring good news from the region. Tevra was clearly nervous as she unrolled the paper, her hands shaking slightly as she fiddled just a second too long with the seal. 

Cullen could pinpoint the exact moment she realized her people - _all_ of her people - were safe. He’d be smug about it if he wasn’t so busy trying to figure out why his stomach lurched all of a sudden. 

Tevra folded the letter and set it aside before looking at him, her gratitude explicit in her face.   
“Thank you,” she said, and his stomach flipped again. 

 _Far_  less of a prick, then, and on far better terms for small talk. A good thing, considering he suddenly had a _lot_  more questions to ask. 


	4. sort-of almost, but not really yet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yet Another Prompt Fill

Tevra had been, initially, surprised to see Cullen outside of his little box in their castle. She almost forgot that he was a person who existed outside of the realms of his desk and the War Table, though she supposed it made sense that he’d want to check in on the re-construction of a bridge as large as Judicael’s crossing. 

“Your furs are _finally_  weather-appropriate,” she teased as she slid in next to him. The man didn’t take his eyes off a particularly rickety cartload of stone until it was safely settled into its proper place on the bridge, and even then he only nodded in her direction. “How’s construction?”  
“It would be faster if the Orlesians didn’t insist on rebuilding the bridge in all its original, obnoxious detail,” he griped, just quietly enough to avoid the ears of the Orlesian stonemason standing nearby. “They _have_  offered us aid, at least. The bridge should be ready to use ... eventually.”   
“Does that mean you’re trapped in Orlais indefinitely, then?”   
“ _Maker_ , no. I leave tomorrow.”   
“Shame,” Tevra sighed. “You’re going to miss out on the view. Who doesn’t love big, misty chasms?”   
“I wouldn’t be surprised if someone told me that it was carved to make the bridge look more dramatic.” Tevra snorted.   
“ _I_  wouldn’t be surprised to find out that Josephine sends you busywork just to keep you trapped in that office. If anyone important heard you shit-talk Orlais like that, we’d be at war.”   
“We _are_  at war.”  
“Double war, then.” Cullen opened his mouth to remind her that ‘double war’ was _certainly_  not a thing, but decided against it at the last minute, and resigned to smiling absently. If she didn’t know better, Tevra would say she was getting better at making him less grouchy, but Andraste herself was well aware that there were only so many miracles one person was capable of. 

“How are things in the rest of the Emprise?” he asked. Tevra was surprised that he wanted to continue the conversation - this was the point where they normally decided that they’d made enough small talk to meet the acquaintance quota.   
“Oh, you know. Demons, red templars, bears. We’re a bard short of a party.” At the mention of the Templars, Cullen tensed visibly. “Hey,” she said, playfully tapping his arm with her fist. “Don’t you worry. I won’t let the big bad bears get you.”   
“You’re worried about the _bears_?”   
“What? They’re territorial, and, well. Look at yourself,” she said, gesturing towards his infamous furs.   
“Very funny, Inquisitor,” he said, just distracted enough to relax again. “Besides, it’s my job to protect _you_.”   
“How very valiant. How many girls have you gotten with that line?” 

Cullen was many things: a hard-ass, cranky, a bit awkward, and a pessimist, to start. Easily flustered was _not_  a quality Tevra thought she’d ever add to that list, but there he was, barely hiding his surprise and completely incapable of hiding the bright crimson across his cheeks. It was almost cute. 

Actually, well -- it _was_  cute, but the man was a high price to pay for handsome. 

“I -- I’m sorry, Inquisitor, it’s not --”   
“Oh, _relax_ ,” she groaned. “I’m just joking. I’m out of your league, anyway.” He turned even more bright crimson, and that’s when she had to cave: he _was_  pretty cute when he wasn’t being a downright nuisance which, as of late, had been less and less often. “Still joking. You can breathe.”   
“R-right, Inquisitor.” He took a moment to clear his throat, clearly eager to change the subject. “W-we -- we’re going to call in some of the Inquisition’s mages to help speed up construction. I’ll make sure they have all they need before I leave.”   
“ _You?_  Calling in the _mages_? The world _is_  ending.”   
“It was the Ambassador’s recommendation. They’ve proven trustworthy allies so far. I had no reason to protest.” Tevra turned just in time to catch his eye for the first time during the whole conversation. His face was still beet-red, his discomfort forcing a grin from her no matter how hard she tried to fight it and save whatever remained of the man’s dignity. “What is it?”  
“Going a bit far to impress me, don’t you think?”   
“Wh - it’s _not --”  
_ “Oh, Mythal’enaste, Cullen, _joking_!” she said, throwing her hands up into the air. She would mention that she was almost proud of him for stepping away from the Big Bad Templar rhetoric he’d been spewing in her direction since her arrival, but she was afraid that another word would force him to implode. Perhaps _this_  was her cue to leave. “I’m going to go find Cole. Try not to offend any of the Orlesians _too_  badly.”  
“Of course,” he said, eyes trained on the bridge once more. Tevra shook her head as she made her exit. She glanced over her shoulder just in time to catch the Commander looking back at her. Immediately, he snapped right back to paying attention to the bridge, but he couldn’t help his hand going to rub at the back of his neck. 

She kinda wished she could go back to _almost_. 


	5. cloudgazing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt fill for 'i'll never unsee that'

Generally speaking, Cullen liked being in the field with his men, but at times being away just made him more anxious about all the paperwork he surely had piling up on his desk back in Skyhold. Tevra had called him out on looking blatantly nervous about it three times before she finally found a suitable distraction. At first, he wasn’t sure what lying in the damp grass in the middle of the night and staring at the sky would  _ do _ , but it didn’t take long for him to understand that it would do nothing and that was kind of … the point. Save for the chill in the night air, he could even call it pleasant.  
“That one looks a little like a nug,” Tevra said, pointing at a cloud. He could see it. Kind of.   
“What about the one to the left?”    
“Ooh, that’s a tough one. I say… a crow eating a royal elfroot. What do you think?” He had kind of hoped she wouldn’t ask. An active imagination had never exactly been required of him, and pointing out that a cloud just looked like a  _ cloud _ probably wouldn’t impress her. Whatever would was probably more than he could give.     
“Maybe a… bush?” Cullen gave her credit for not laughing at him outright.    
“Here, let’s do an easy one. Look over by the top of that mountain there, just right of the… bush.” 

Cullen squinted at the cloud, but he had to agree that this one was a far easier thing to place than the rest of the shapeless blobs she somehow identified. Plump all around, with two little tufts trailing at the top: a bunny. He said as such, though he should have known better than to hope she’d let him slide after that. Her hand immediately traveled up to a vaguely blocky… blob, though the way the underside of it curved was familiar enough to get him to think about it.    
“Is that… a hart?”   
“You’ve got it! See? Dare I say…  _ fun _ ? Relaxing, even?”    
“Are you always this enthusiastic about clouds?”  
“Depends on the day. My newest pursuit is to get you to laugh once in a while.” She was successful enough at that, though the laugh that started to bubble up was instantly cut by a shiver. Without saying a word, Tevra sat up and scoot herself flush against him, so Cullen stretched an arm out to wrap around her shoulder just as she laid her head on his. With some adjusting, she freed her right arm from between them and instead threw her leg over one of his. “Alright, Commander. Give me a tough one.”   
“The one that’s about to block out Satina.”   
“Easy. Solas with a beard.”   
“Maker. I’ll never unsee that.” 


End file.
